


Arrows and the Night - Bonus Scenes

by Albiona



Series: Arrows and the Night [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, One Shot Collection, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albiona/pseuds/Albiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Dick returned the Batmobile and other bonus scenes from the world of "Arrows and the Night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> The first few scenes will be one-shots but can be read in chronological order, as requested by SticksandBones. Takes place directly after Chapter 14 when Nightwing leaves the Foundry with a recently kidnapped and drugged Spoiler.

By the time Dick reached Gotham City’s limits, he’d talked himself out of going straight to the Cave. He wanted Alfred to have a look at Steph’s blood and he wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone, just in case. She could’ve stayed a few days at the Manor, and with Tim and Bruce and Alfred there, she’d have been well-looking after. Even Damian wouldn’t let her walk off a parapet or anything. 

The main problem with the Manor was their ride. Even though she’d wanted to be there to hear Batman lay into him, Batman’s yelling is stressful. Casual bystanders have been known to hyperventilate or even have panic attacks. Dick tries to avoid Batman’s yelling whenever possible, and he certainly wasn’t going to drive his sister straight into an onslaught. So, Dick made a call.

Barbara said Steph could stay with her, but the entire arrangement made Dick uncomfortable. Babs had been swamped the past few months, so asking her to stay awake to watch over Steph seemed like a jerk move. When Babs had insisted, dropping Steph off felt very divorced-parents to Dick. He and Babs were having enough trouble keeping up a civil breakup without weird parental vibes.

Dick eyed the time. This late, Batman had called off their patrol and taken Damian home. The kid had school tomorrow, which meant Steph would absolutely be missing her classes for a few days, and Bruce does, actually, pay attention to things to homework and bedtimes. 

Dick had been driving Bruce’s cars of one form or another since he was a kid, and the thrill of it had never left him. The hum of a huge engine dragging him behind it, strapped in to the intimate, anonymous darkness. He’d collapsed into that cage of safety over and over as Robin, finally feeling safe no matter how much blood he’d already lost. As Nightwing, he’d driven his brothers home after battles burnt red, and taken them out for fun nights of counter-crime with someone a little less grim.

He drove it as well as Bruce. And he’d known, when Steph had gone missing, that he needed to get to her and get her safe. The Batmobile was, in Dick’s mind, the safest place he could get her. He hadn’t known that the Arrow would agree help him. He’d prepared for anything.

Like father, like son.

Dick checked the fuel gauge and turned down a side street. Once the Batmobile says it’s out of gas, it’s out. No moving. No 20 mile grace period. No 20 _meter_ grace period. Empty. Naturally, Batman demands the most accurate information, which is why Dick would be astounded to actually pull this off. Break into the cave—literal child’s play. Break in and back out—who do you think pulled cable for the original security system? But bringing something as obstreperous and, well, expected as the car?

Dick started sweating again. He’d stopped when he’d jumped off the roof of The Scarecrow’s facility in Starling. Leaping, falling, it’s always been his favorite, and he had Steph back by then. Nothing much left to worry about.

Until now.

Dick’s skin prickled up his spine.

He started reciting what he’d tell Bruce. His mentor wouldn’t begrudge him taking the Batmobile to help Spoiler, but not asking permission? Angry Batman.

It’d been stupid, but he just hadn’t wanted to _ask_. He’d been Batman once. Bruce had gone missing, presumed dead, and it’d been he and the little demon protecting Gotham, looking out for the family. Dick still did the latter, obviously, but it’s not the same. He doesn’t want the cowl back. But he liked walking into the cave like he owned it (he did), taking whatever tech or vehicle he wanted, calling the shots with no one questioning him. Because under it all, he still wants Batman’s approval. And he wants Bruce’s approval even more.

Steph is safe. He’s making friends. Not a bad night, all in all.

Dick turned off the road and plowed down the drive to the Batcave. Entering its recesses, he zoomed further in, screeched the Batmobile to a stop right where he’d found it. The blue indicator on the gauge sat on the base of the E. Perfect.

Leaping from the car, he took a cursory glance around but, only seeing Damian’s cow, he punched the shutdown code into the central console. Taking the vial of Steph’s blood from his ankle-belt, Dick crossed to the Batcomputer. He was halfway through writing a note for Alfred when the butler came to the top of the landing.

“Master Richard.”

“Hey, Al,” he said. “I was just leaving you a note. Stephanie was drugged. Could you take a look at her blood?” he asked. “It should be pretty clean by now but I’d feel better after a chemical analysis.”

“Of course, Sir,” Alfred said.

“Great. You’re the best,” he said and took off back toward the entrance. He’d swing to the spot he’d left his bike.

“Master Richard, kindly refill the tank on the automobile you stole.”

Dick spun on his heels but didn’t stop running. Alfred stood at the bottom of the stairs from the mansion, looking after him.

“Sorry, sun’s coming up. Gotta go,” Nightwing called, waving.

“Master Richard,” the butler thundered across the cave, half-shocked and very firm. “Young man come back this instant.”

Dick stopped running and cursed aloud. Alfred makes Batman cower. What chance does Dick stand?

With a sigh, he started back to the Batmobile, determined to be done with this as soon as possible. Alfred met him beside the pump.

“How is Miss Stephanie this evening?” the butler asked, stoic again.

“She’s better. If she’s not fully recovered tomorrow I might bring her here for a few nights so Barbara can have a break.”

“Will you join her, Sir?”

Dick sighed, lifting the notch and listening to the fuel shutter its way through the hose and into the vehicle.

“Maybe,” he owned. “Is Tim home yet?” 

Red Robin had been called away to Hong Kong. Black Bat needed backup and a detective.

“Not yet, Sir. We expect him home by noon tomorrow.”

Dick had forgotten how big this tank actually was, and he leaned back against the black body, dragging his mask off to stretch the skin underneath.

A voice behind him made his skin prickle. “How is she?”

Nightwing froze. It’s a good thing he wasn’t wearing his mask. Dick can get away with things Nightwing can’t. He faced his mentor.

The older man stood in the doorway in a dark grey shirt and black training pants. His face, of course, was deeply hidden in shadow. Bruce let the silence linger.

“She was dosed heavily with a hallucinogen. They used it to try to torture our identities from her. She was awake and responsive for several hours after I found her. I didn’t want her at home alone so I took her to Barbara’s.”

When Bruce didn’t answer, Dick checked the infuriatingly steady gas pump. The number of gallons ticked up one number at a time, just like at a normal gas station. 

“You did well, Master Dick,” said Alfred. “I suspect the effects could have been much worse.”

Richard let out a long, low breathe. 

“I had help,” he said. Meeting his father’s eyes he said, “They were invaluable.”

Since when had he used words like ‘invaluable?’

Bruce didn’t answer. Alfred walked to the computer and examined the vial, holding it to the light.

“Dick,” Bruce began.

“There wasn’t time,” said the son, his voice rising. “Spoiler was in trouble and I needed to get to her.”

The pump finally finished and coughed to a stop. Dick pressed a final gush into the tank and replaced the nozzle, recapping the tank with his other hand.

“I am glad that you look out for them the way you do,” said Bruce.

Surprised, Dick cut his eyes to the man and crossed his arms.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

Bruce pursed his lips into a frown worthy of Batman.

“Your methods have to change.”

“Success has to change?”

“Lying. To me.”

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t ask, but I didn’t lie.”

“Which Damian knows.”

“It’s not like I’m setting a worse example than anyone else,” he answered, fighting to keep his voice even.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “Damian doesn’t watch you like he watches his brothers. He doesn’t idolize them.”

“He’s already a thief,” Dick returned. There’d been a bad run when he’d decided to steal something from each of his predecessors.

“I’m not talking about what he’s done. I’m talking about what he’s going to do.”

Dick let out a long, low breath.

“Okay,” he said. “I get it.” And turned for the cave’s entrance.

“Where are you going, young sir?” asked Alfred.

“To my bike and then home.”

“You won’t find your motorcycle where you left it. Your father moved it.”

Dick followed the older man’s extended hand across the cave. Nearly tucked from sight, the rear wheel peeked out from behind a stalagmite.

Bruce was gone.


	2. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up directly after the first one-shot, "Return," the drug's effects on Stephanie are made know.

_Nightwing._

Dick dragged his arm over his face.

"Yeah?" he grunted, his voice still raw from the night. He cleared his throat and waited for Barbara to answer.

_Something's wrong with Stephanie._

He sat up and the sheet fell to his waist. His sister had fallen asleep on the drive back to Gotham but she’d been doing well when he dropped her off at Oracle’s before dawn.

"What do you mean?"

_I told her to shut up and she did. Instantly. She didn't say anything until for 18 minutes, and then only because I asked her what was wrong._

"Does she feel okay?"

_She says she does. Has Alfred found anything in her blood?_

"I don't know."

_Would you check?_

"Maybe she just listened for once," he said, rolling onto his side to scan his phone for alerts.

 _18 minutes of uninterrupted silence_ , she repeated.

"Yeah, okay. That's odd. Ask her to do something weird. Tell her to quack like a duck."

_…It's Stephanie._

"Just do it."

_Stephanie. Quack._

He lay back again and squeezed his lids closed, listening to his sister quack.

 _Stop_ , Barbara said. _Say something nice about Damian._

Dick heard her answer: _He's adorable and a very good fighter._

_Tell Dick he's Penguin's ugliest fish._

Fumbling. The slide of the headpiece going over her ear. _Dick?_

"Yeah, Steph."

_You are the Penguin's ugliest fish._

"Steph, are you okay?" he asked.

_Yeah. I feel great. Much better. Thanks to you._

"Why'd you just say that to me?"

_Because you deserve a “thank you”._

“No—”

_Fine, no 'thank you.'_

"Why'd you call me an ugly fish?"

_Babs told me to._

"But why did you choose to do it?"

She paused a long moment.

_Why wouldn't I?_

"Listen, Steph. Go to the fridge. Tell me what's in it."

Stephanie named every item until she got to 'butter.'

"Great, that's perfect. Steph, eat the butter."

He could hear her do it. He heard her lips slip over the congealed mass as she bit into the stick. He heard the sickly mess come away in her mouth and he heard her start to chew.

He could hear Babs in the background. _Dick! What did you tell her to do?_ Then, _That's been in there for a year!_

He shook himself out his disgust.

"Steph, stop! Spit it out!"

Barbara took the earpiece back as the younger woman did so.

 _Eww_ , said his friend. _Dick, I'm serious._

"I know," he threw the covers off his legs and scrubbed a hand over chin. No time to shave. "I'm on my way."

When Dick Grayson arrived, he shook the rain off his jacket then stepped over Barbara's threshold. She wheeled herself ahead of him through to the living room portion of her studio apartment.

"No word on her blood yet," he said and watched her nod.

Stephanie was sitting on the couch in her borrowed pajamas with a cup of coffee. Dick did what Alfred and his mother used to do when he was sick. He crossed the room and sat beside her, one arm propped on the back of the couch. With his other, he felt her forehead. Then he twisted around to face Babs.

"Why do people do this?" he asked.

"To feel for fevers."

"How can you tell?"

Babs shrugged. "I don't know if I could tell the difference with my hand. But I guess, when we were dating, I kissed you enough that I'd be able to tell if you had a fever by kissing you. "

Suddenly the room felt fuzzy and domestic. Too domestic for what they were now.

"What's wrong with you two?" Stephanie asked.

"I'm taking you to the Manor," said Dick.

She cringed.

"Because I got captured?" she asked. 

"No, because you ate half a stick of butter straight," Barbara retorted.

Steph just blinked at her.

"Do you remember doing that?" asked Dick. She nodded.

"You told me to," she said, as if reminding him of something obvious.

"Isn't that a weird thing to ask you to do?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"Then why'd you do it? No one just eats butter."

She frowned at him and he felt her bristle.

"I don't get why you're upset. You told me to do it."

“Right,” he forced out a hard breath and met Barbara’s emerald eyes. “Okay, Steph. To the Manor.”


	3. Stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Place this scene between Ch. 42, when Jason and Stephanie had breakfast, and Ch. 43, when Nightwing and the Arrow got into a fistfight. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The Spoiler pushed open the back door of Verdant just after sunset and ducked inside. Shaking rain off her cape, she strode across the dance floor, tugged her hood off, and pulled a black cloth down from her nose and mouth. Punching in the security code, she opened the wide steel door and descended into the Foundry.

“Hey, Daddy Arrow,” she called, flicking water off gloves. Oliver, in a grey wife beater, lowered Nightwing’s escrima sticks and Dick, in a red undershirt, tossed Red Robin’s bow staff into his left hand. He quirked an eyebrow up at her. She leaped over the railing, surpassing the last five steps. “Can Arsenal come out and play?”

“Are you serious?” asked Oliver, between breathes.

“Yeah. I wanna go on patrol.”

“Why don’t you take Red Robin?” asked her brother.

“Take my boyfriend away from his computer?” she returned. Dick nodded and spun the bow staff around his neck.

“Isn’t it raining?” asked Felicity.

“Oh come on,” she said, slipping into a strong and disgraceful Highlander accent, “It’s just good Scottish weather.”

Oliver leaned to one side to better see his protégé.

“Roy?” he asked.

Spoiler spun and skipped his direction.

“There you are,” she said. “I’m bored. Let’s patrol.”

“You just got here,” he said.

“I’ll only get more annoying.”

“That’s true,” Dick offered.

“What don’t you spar or something?” said Arsenal. Blinking, he shifted his weight and nodded toward his mentor. “And why’d you ask his permission?”

“Boring,” she answered, opening her arms, closing her eyes, and smoothing her face to serenity. “I want to _fly_.”

Darting to the salmon ladder, she leapt onto the bar and twirled, crouched on one foot, to face Roy again.

“I’m being polite,” she explained. “His hideout, his partner. Besides. I didn’t see you. So? Patrol?”

“Its pouring,” Felicity emphasized, swiveling away from a radar map and clearly perturbed that the other blonde didn’t seem to understand this horror.

“Bad guys work in the rain. So must we,” Stephanie answered.

“If you get sick,” said Dick, stretching his arms over his head, staff held by both fists, “I’ll force-feed you Al’s health shakes.”

She shivered and made a distinctly realistic gagging sound.

“Red Robin,” she said, “eta on clear skies?”

“Forty minutes.”

She considered.

“Okay. Daddy Arrow, can Arsenal come out and play in forty minutes? I promise we won’t miss breakfast. We’ll be back inside before sunrise.”


	4. Stitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After chapter 31, when the Arrow learns the identities of Nightwing and Spoiler and decides not to shoot Robin.
> 
> I hope ya'll like it!

With the promise of Alfred’s steady hands and a staucher kit, Dick accompanied his little brother home.

They swung into the cave and Damian, tutting, let his oldest brother lean against him. Dick knew it had pained him to feel excluded from Dick’s trust, to have believed he was flying to his older brother’s rescue but to have discovered the Arrow and relationships he’d known nothing about. Going back to the cave with Damian, letting him help, would reassure the kid of his importance to Dick.

Alfred appeared in the doorway of the nearest medical room, a small surgical tray in hand. Dick had barely registered the depth of his relief when the hulking black shoulders of his father appeared as well.

Dick cursed, loudly and repeatedly.

“Robin. Bed,” said Batman.

“Why should I have to go?”

“You were to stay home tonight,” came the answer, dark and low. “Bed.” Eyes ducking, the boy stepped away from Dick’s weight. The older steadied himself and let go.

Two hours earlier, with a tight squeeze to Damian’s shoulder, Dick had conveyed a simple “Follow my lead.” And the boy had done so. He’d even allowed Stephanie to stand in front of him, shielding him from the Arrow. No need to let the Arrow know just how deadly the boy had been trained to be. Still, looking at Damian now, barely following Bruce’s order, Dick was shocked it’d worked.

“Thanks, Dami. You did good,” he said. “You really sold it.” The younger’s head lowered slightly but the child’s footsteps didn’t falter or slow. His shoulders squared almost imperceptibly.

“Goodnight, Master Damian,” Alfred offered as the boy passed.

“Goodnight, Pennyworth." And quieter, "Goodnight, Father.”

Once he’d gone, Alfred wheeled a chair over and forced Nightwing to sit and peel off the top of his suit.

Before Batman could start up again, Nightwing dragged his mask off and said, “I handled it.”

Batman pressed a key and video footage and stills of the rooftop filled every screen.

“Bleeding on a rooftop is not handling it,” snarled his father. “Revealing your identity is not handling it.”

“It was a gesture of trust,” Dick answered. “And Spoiler and I didn’t tell them anything they shouldn’t have already figured out. The only people they know from Gotham are vigilantes.”

Alfred sanitized the needle.

“Your IDENTITY ,” Batman raged, his voice finally a roar. “YOUR NAME.”

The butler stabbed Dick for the first stitch, earning a facial twitch but nothing more.

“I took a risk, but a slight one,” said the younger man. “I had backup. I’d done my homework. I decided about them weeks ago, which you know.”

“If he’s too stupid to figure it out,” Batman growled, “you are not to help him.”

“Bruce,” Dick sighed his name, head rolling to one side before he lifted it to meet the other man’s dark eyes, flexing his abs since he couldn’t his shoulders. “Could I have my old bedroom tonight?”

The father blinked at him, jaw still set and taut, muscles twitching beneath the skin. Finally, he nodded.

“Thanks.”

Alfred cut the thread and taped a pad of gauze over the wound.

“No acrobatics, young man,” warned the butler. “Keep the bandage on and go directly to sleep.”

Dick smirked and nodded.

“Thanks, Al,” he said, pushing himself off the table. Being on his feet again ought to make him feel better, but the late hour and the adrenaline’s wake drained his energy out through the floor. To his father he said, “It’s done. Oracle’s going to monitor them remotely. And Steph and I will check back in with them in a few days.”

Bruce glared, a growl rising in his throat. Dick stepped to the side and laid a hand on the other’s shoulder as he passed.

“Don’t worry. Damian’s identity is safe and I will protect Stephanie.”

He was nearly through the door, shuffling more than he’d like, when Bruce answered.

“I always worry.”


	5. Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-December after the end of "Arrows and the Night."
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!

“How’s it going?” asked Roy, entering the main room of the Foundry. 

His friend shook her head and groaned. 

“You’d think college and vigilante-ism would go great together,” Stephanie said, pushing her hair out of the way. She was sitting in front of her laptop in Felicity’s chair, wearing jeans and an I heart GC t-shirt. Two open textbooks and a beaten-up black spiral notebook lay beside her. She continued without facing him, “Only a couple of classes a day, maybe a night class one semester or something. But no. You have an online test due by midnight and you’re out chasing thugs until two-thirty. Or you have to finish ten modules by finals week, but the next thing you know you have eight modules due in two days and the mob is acting up again.”

“Or,” continued Roy, “you spend so much time traveling between Gotham and Starling that your brother grounds you and you have to write a paper from the Arrow’s hideout.”

“Or that.” She laid her chin down on the edge of the table.

Roy set a matte black mug in front of her. Steph’s eyes crossed to focus on it, then flickered up to him, his hesitant smile, and back down to the mug. Picking her head up off the metal, she leaned over the rim of the cup.

“Uhhh,” Steph inhaled the spices in the steam. “You,” she breathed back out, eyes slipping closed, “are my favorite vigilante in all of Starling City. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Roy smirked. “They don’t.”

She blew gently across the top and sipped.

“Mmmmmm,” she moaned. Shucking her gloves off, she wrapped her hands around the mug’s base and pulled back lightly from the heat.

“Good choice?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

After a beat, he slip one hand into his pocket.

“You’ll finish,” he said.

“In time?” she muttered, then sipped.

“You’re good at getting what you want.”

She closed her eyes again. 

“I have no idea what you mean.”

He chuckled and drew back, crossing to an arrow display, rubbing his hands with outstretched fingers before touching the nearest shaft.

The steel door from the club opened and a vigilante descended in his blue leather suit.

“Digg! You’re back,” In a flurry of legs Stephanie leaped out of the chair, which rolled backwards into the table and knocked a thimbleful of coffee out of her mug. Hearing the back slap against the edge, she shrieked and spun to hover over the disaster. She pivoted back and forth between the stairs and her cup until, exasperated, she stomped toward the newcomer, mouth in a deep pout. 

“You okay, girl?” Diggle asked when she reached him, mouth trembling just short of a smile.

She huffed, and he set a hand on her shoulder while he chuckled at her. 

“How’d it go?” Stephanie asked, setting her hands on her hips.

“Oliver and Dick are in the clear.”

“Swell. Think they could use a bit of backup?” she beamed up at him, bouncing on her toes. “Maybe once the party’s over?”

He grinned back at her and nodded toward her computer.

“How’s your paper going?”

Steph’s face dropped instantly. She slunk back to the desk with a groan and, picking up her mug, licked the porcelain once. She dropped a napkin onto the table and watched the brown ring bloom through the white.

“What’s it on, anyway?” Digg asked. She wiped the wetness from the surface, then from the bottom of her cup.

“The messiah complex.”

The men snickered.

A corner of her mouth twitched. Voice lilting, she said, “Who’s gonna save the world tonight?”

The younger man crossed his arms. “My money’s on Felicity.”

“Smart bet,” said Digg. “Except she’s probably asleep already.”

“No, she said she had to clear out her DVR.”

“I got it,” said Stephanie, swiveling her chair back toward the others. “One quick round through the neighborhood and I’m back to work. It’ll practically be research.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” asked John. She fetched her suit bag from the sofa.

“Nope! But I’m doing it anyway. Besides, breaks are healthy. There’ve been studies.”

"And you know this how?" said John. "You never study."

"It's psychology, which is all over that desk," she shot back, voice rising with her eyebrows. 

"You mean Buzzfeed," Roy smirked.

Crossing in front of them, she unzipped the bag, drawing out a ball of purple cloth.

"And I looked it up, so shush." She pointed to the thickest textbook. "Chapter seventeen."

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while coming, but I hope ya'll enjoy!


End file.
